Broken Skies
by Xennon
Summary: I prefer to think of dandelions as survivors. They are always there, classified as weeds, dwelling among weeds. Not given the chance to be more than a weed. Surviving. Always surviving. Tomione though the years.
1. Prologue

_Broken Skies_  
><em>By: Xennon<em>

**_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you _****_recognize_**

_Prologue_

* * *

><p><em>A light wind blew over the horizon, the moon glazing the grass.<em>

_A single horse rider tearing through the moor, wind tearing at his cloak._

_He was already late, and that wasn't good news._

_The rider spotted the manor's silhouette in the distance and urged his horse to go faster, fearful of the consequences if he continued this tardiness._

_Soon, the manor was looming a great shadow over him. He slid off the horse and thrust the reins into the stable boys hands and passed the gates into the garden._

_The doors opened as he stepped up to it, and he rushed inside and headed towards the ball room. The corridors were dark, and the only light he had was from the candle he held in his ever so slightly trembling hands._

_He reached the doors of the ballroom and took a breath before he knocked on it._

_As he did, the candle seemed to grow dim and he felt a shiver up his spine._

_The door opened straight after the third knock to open up to a green light, then he saw no more._

* * *

><p>Some will say that dandelions are wish bearers. They are easily found and are a reminder of youth. To cherish the time you have, and never lose hope. It also represents souls, and how easily they drift.<p>

However to me, I prefer to think of dandelions as survivors. They are always there, classified as weeds, dwelling among weeds. Not given the chance to be more than a weed. They are shunned by mankind, for they fear that these wishes. They fear things they know little of. But a dandelion's line never ends, if you blow out one dandelion, the seeds will spread, carried by the wind and dozens more will appear. They break through the ground earlier than other flowers, and thrive.

Dandelions are shunned because they roam free they press the bitter boundaries of winter and break through before the others even begin to spread their roots.

My name is Thomas Marlovo Riddle Jr, and I've been given the chance to be more than a plain weed. I've been shunned for my freedom, but now I've been given the chance to show the world exactly what I can do, to rise above the simple weeds of humanity.

To be more than this.

And I will.


	2. Confusion

_Broken Skies_  
><em>By:Xennon<em>

_Confusion_

* * *

><p>A hoot from a owl awakened the slumbering figure beneath the tree, she was jostled into life, as if she was brought back from the dead.<p>

Which, was possible for all she knew. She couldn't remember a thing.

The full moon was high up in the sky, but it wasn't cold.

She stood up shakily - attempting to walk, but failing to do so and stumbled.

She leaned heavily against a tree and put her hands into her pockets to find a beaded bag among other things.

She searched her mind for fragments of her past, her memories, but came up empty handed.

All she had was three words in her mind. Perhaps a place? Or a name?

But regardless of it's meaning, good or bad, she clung on to it like it was her lifeline.

_Thomas Marlovo Riddle Jr. Who is that... Think, Hermione, THINK!_

Hermione. That was her name!

She heaved a sigh and tried to stand up again, clinging on to the tree for support.

_Hermione... Hermione...Jae? No...Jane? No... Jean? YES, Hermione Jean... Granger!_

She smiled a little and kept thinking.

_My name is Hermione Jean Granger, I am 18 years old, but I took a potion that would permanently make me a few years younger in 1998 to stop Tom Riddle from being evil. So now I am 11, but I will die at the age my eighteen year old self would die._

Strangely, this information didn't surprise her.

_I was sent back in time to stop a person from becoming evil. I was a prefect at... Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I never got to finish my final year.__ My best friends are..._

Hermione faltered and tried again.

_My best friends are..._

_MY BEST FRIENDS ARE...?_

She sighed and gave up, focusing on Thomas Marlovo Riddle Junior instead.

_Thomas Marlovo Riddle Jr. is...Lord Voldemort_

A shiver ran down her spine, although the reason for that chill remained unclear to her.

She removed herself from the leaning stance beside the tree and steadied herself until the black spots before her eyes vanished.

Before any unwanted creatures could creep up on her, she whispered a quiet _lumos _with her wand in hand.

She considered apperating, but with her memories this messed up, and the final destination unclear, she'd hate to be splinched.

_Well, here goes nothing!_

With a path in sight, she started walking along it, wherever it may lead.

* * *

><p>Thomas Riddle was turning 11 in three days.<p>

He didn't care much for his birthday, but this year will be the last year he was going to wish that someone would take him away from Wool's.

He know it probably won't come true, and wishing magic most likely wasn't real, but he hoped so very hard that it was fact, not fiction.

For he has made strange things happen growing up, like talking to snakes for example.

He was in the field near the orphanage one day, when a snake started chatting him up, and they had a two hour debate about the meaning of life.

It was pretty obvious that they couldn't hear snakes talking, but as soon as they found out about his powers, they called him a freak and stayed well away from him.

More than before, in fact. Tom Riddle was pretty lonely.

* * *

><p>At long last, after a good twelve hour walk, Hermione reached a clearing.<p>

Walking twelve hours as a eighteen year old was hard enough, but for an eleven year old? She was zonked.

On her way here, she rediscovered other information including that her favorite subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Her wand is vine and dragon heartstring, ten and three quarter inches. She can't stand Divination. The beaded bag she take everywhere has an undetectable extension charm cast on it.

She was pretty happy of her achievements, so to speak.

However, she was well exhausted, even after the countless breaks that she took, she was feeling like her legs and head were run over by a herd of hippogriffs.

But, if Hermione Granger wasn't ambitious, then Ronald Weasley despised food.

_Ronald Weasley... sound familiar... why would it sound familiar...Remember Hermione! wait- Ron is one of my best friends!_

With this new news, she breathed a sigh of relief and strained her mind a bit more to find his appearance. But, alas, the timing wasn't right and she lost the spark of knowledge she had a few moments prior.

After this trip down memory lane, Hermione finally spotted a building not so far off in the distance. But before she could do more, she passed out from sheer exhaustion and woke up later to a dark and gloomy room.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm not sure where I am going with this story, right now I'm writing whatever comes to my mind. So, _please _bear with me!

-X-


	3. Accusations

_Broken Skies  
><em>_By: Xennon_

_Accusations_

* * *

><p>Helga Cole was a very simple and plain lady.<p>

She was widowed at a very young age and was left with little more than a tiny rundown estate at the edge of town.

Her husband was in the army, fighting in the Vietnamese war and died in action. He died saving Vietnamese children from the bombers bombing the village the children lived in.

Clara was no spectacle of beauty, quite plain with mousy brown hair and dark eyes devoid of light since her husband's death.

But she did have, and still has a kind heart and forgiving attitude.

And she tried to make life for the orphans as happy as possible.

But with this gloomy estate and a limited budget to work with, she could hardly do any more than what she already did.

It is like being asked to turn straw into gold. It was simply impossible.

But despite this, she tried her best and hoped for a good outcome.

And seeing as she wasn't in a fairy tale, she didn't have Rumpelstiltskin to weave gold for her.

And Tom Riddle was the hardest task of all.

He was a closed off child never bonding with anyone. His mother died giving birth, and his father... well, it's a mystery.

She felt sorry for Tom, he never knew any of his parents, and she didn't know if it was better knowing them and losing them, or never knowing them at all.

If only she could do magic...

* * *

><p><strong>Tap...tap...tap...tap...<strong>

_Ugh... five more minutes..._

**Tap...tap...tap...tap...**

_Turn off that stupid thing..._

**Tap...tap...tap...tap...**

_FINE, I'll get up..._

Hermione opened her eyes groggily and was greeted by the uncomfortable cot beneath her and the dark and coldness of the room she was in, for she only had a thin sheet covering her, which wasn't enough for this weather.

The taps that she heard were coming in through the ceiling, for there was a rather large rainstorm outside raging on.

A sudden thunder clap knocked her out of her thoughts and she tentatively stood up, wary of others that might be lurking in the shadows.

She took out her wand and whispered _"lumos"_, and a beam of light shone from the tip of her wand.

Her surroundings were plain; there was a desk of wood that looked like it would fall at any moment, a wardrobe that was empty discounting the abandoned spider webs covering it, a small window with bars and the gloomiest object in the room, the cold metal cot with a lumpy poor excuse of bedding upon it.

Straight across from the bed, she spotted the door and she turned the doorknob that was eye-level with her.

The door creaked open and she stepped into the dark corridor, and then she headed towards the light at the end of the hallway.

Her footsteps creaked as she walked, echoing the hall. The journey took longer than expected, perhaps because of her change in size.

At the oil lamp, (the dim yellow constantly wavering light that was nowhere near as bright as the light in her hand) she muttered out _"nox"_ and the stairs that spiraled down in front of her considerably dimmed.

She grasped the handrail and started descending, one step at a time. As she went down, the lamp above her faded out and she was lost in the darkness for a few moments as she walked. Then, she saw another light reflect on the wood-made stairs. She began to see clearer and she reached another hall, but this one had a boy in it, his back to her.

She gasped as the boy turned, the boy's face connecting to the name of Thomas Marlovo Riddle Junior.

* * *

><p>Tom had stood in the hallway for at least an hour already; it was punishment for stealing another boy's treacle tart. He didn't steal it, of course, but whenever something like this happened, he was blamed.<p>

He was blamed for everything that was deemed un-normal in the orphanage. Sometimes, it was his fault, like the death of Billy's rabbit, but other times it was for utterly ridiculous things that he didn't do, such as making it rain when he was feeling angry, or Joey losing his hair on the night that Joey made fun of Tom's mother.

He was really bored from standing in the last few minutes, and his legs were feeling slightly numb. Seeing as he did nothing wrong, he was also seriously annoyed, he was going to show them who's boss. He sighed and tapped his foot against the floorboards, looked up at the cracks in the ceiling, and recited the 14th times table under his breath for the umpteenth time.

Then, when he was up to 42x14, he heard the stairs creak behind him. He stiffened and stayed in his spot, not knowing who was behind him. He stared at the wall in front of him before he turned around- to face a girl who looked the same age as him. Her face was pale white and her eyes wide and shocked, her skin looking thin to the point of being transparent, hair frizzy brown and split into two across her shoulders- obviously un-cared for. And, on top of all that, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

Then, she fainted.


End file.
